alexcat: (Default)
alexcat ([personal profile] alexcat) wrote2017-09-23 10:35 am

Poem #23: September

This one is, unfortunately, still pertinent.

~~

September, 1918

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.


~~Amy Lowell
st_aurafina: Rainbow DNA (Default)

[personal profile] st_aurafina 2017-09-24 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
This is lovely, but yeah. Sad that it's a thing we're all feeling again.